


Not One for Ballet

by PUNIFA



Series: Bits and Bobs [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ballet, M/M, SHERLOCK'S A TEASE, SHERLOCK/LESTRADE - Freeform, Sherstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:23:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PUNIFA/pseuds/PUNIFA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg’s not one for ballet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not One for Ballet

Greg’s not one for ballet.

(That might be a heinous understatement.)  
He doesn’t quite appreciate plies and shuffling tip-toes. The leaps and bends and twirls all start looking the same to him after a while. There’s no scoring and the musical numbers are so soft sometimes that his ears feel like pillows.

So ballet is very much not for Greg Lestrade, thank you very much.

Ballet is also not generally for Sherlock Holmes (though the music really isn’t part of the issue). Distraction, however, is, and a murderous ballerina or two is enough to make him slip into a leotard and thrust a ticket at Greg, demanding that he drive them to the theatre because “an unsolved murder should be far more interesting to a detective than grown men lobbing a ball about with their toes.”

That’s how they ended up in a dance hall, violins and pianos melting through the air while Greg slunk down in his seat. He hadn’t bothered asking how Sherlock planned to wheedle his way into an evidently top-notch performance - he’d been far too distracted by the way the amateur detective smoothed out his sheer white tights on the ride over. Greg decided that Sherlock had dancers’ legs, without ever giving a prolonged stare to any professional’s calves. He didn’t need to. Sherlock set his standard.

That (and of course the fact that an investigation had the potential of being advanced) kept Greg from leaving his seat to raid the refreshments table he’d seen in the lobby.

It turned out to be worth the cotton-ears when the curtains finally parted. Sherlock was stuck off behind a whip of a girl, stance not quite blending with the other dancers’, and when they started moving he was just a blink behind. But of course, Greg wasn’t watching for form. How in Hell could a recovering junkie have muscles like that? Not to mention that sort of equilibrium.

Sherlock snaked along until intermission, then presumably knocked off to gather evidence. When he didn’t come back out on stage Greg went outside, in great need of a cool down. He didn’t really get the chance.

“Let’s go,” Sherlock rasped against his earlobe, making him jump.

“Got what you need?” Greg asked, but Sherlock was already tucking a baggie (of something crucial to the case, he was sure) into his coat pocket and nudging them towards the car. Once they were inside Sherlock ripped off his ballet slippers, tossing them into the backseat and flinging his legs into Greg’s lap. He stretched and curled his toes, groaning.

Sherlock’s feet were evidently very cramped.

Greg very nearly crashed on the way home.

Sherlock took note of this with immense glee and began making his feet cozily at home in Greg’s lap whenever they shared the couch. He also wore the tights for a straight week.

The ballet instructor was arrested.

Sherlock celebrated by erecting a barre in the living room.


End file.
